


Gloved

by spectrifical



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, M/M, Pining, Post-Star Trek: Into Darkness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-16 18:55:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1358272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spectrifical/pseuds/spectrifical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim should really requisition a doo-dad for himself.  It might keep him out of trouble.  Because while Spock drones on and on about the race of people who’d lived here who knows how long ago—life spans triple that of Vulcans at least… for all the good it did them considering they aren’t here anymore—Jim goes and runs his hands along the smooth, white marble wall before him.  It’s crumbling in places but still fundamentally intact.  He doesn’t even see what he’s pressed, feels no indentation to suggest this section of the wall is any different than any other, no color, temperature, or texture change, and yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gloved

It’s not even Bones’s fault, the accident. Spock rattles off a Russian novel’s worth of logical reasons why they shouldn’t touch anything; it’s good advice, well-reasoned and thorough. Bones, busy fiddling with his tricorder, pays little attention, but again: tricorder. Hands full and all that. Has no reason to touch. But Jim has every reason to pay attention to those hands, which is why he very decidedly does not pay attention to those hands. Or, for whatever reason, Spock’s request.

Jim should really requisition a doo-dad for himself. It might keep him out of trouble. Because while Spock drones on and on about the race of people who’d lived here who knows how long ago—life spans triple that of Vulcans at least… for all the good it did them considering they aren’t here anymore—Jim goes and runs his hands along the smooth, white marble wall before him. It’s crumbling in places but still fundamentally intact. He doesn’t even see what he’s pressed, feels no indentation to suggest this section of the wall is any different than any other, no color, temperature, or texture change, and yet.

Jim wouldn’t even have noticed except for the high pitched yelp and the clatter of plastic against the floor. One minute Bones is muttering at Spock about whether he comes by that fastidiousness honest—Jim’s moved on to staring at a new and thrilling section of marble—and the next, well. The next Bones is two and a half feet shorter and drowning in his uniform.

“Dr. McCoy, are you—” Spock says before startling into silence. That’s what Jim presumes anyway because who knows what Vulcans do when shit gets this weird. “Fascinating.”

Oh, that’s right. They express mild scientific curiosity. Maybe Jim should circulate that memo about sensitivity again. He’d always thought Bones would get him into the most trouble there. And sometimes Spock, who only notices about half the time and cares even less often. Who'd have guessed Spock would be the big offender instead?

Then Jim actually looks at Bones. Baby Bones. Absolutely fucking adorable baby Bones. Jim knows, because he’s seen pictures. Not that Bones knows that Jim has seen them. He’s gotta be at least four or five and all eyes if Jim’s comprehensive infiltration of Bones’s privacy had yielded the correct photographic evidence and timeline. Which it had. So maybe not a baby, but definitely not the thirty-one year old grandpa Jim knows and likes more than he should.

“Shut up, Spock,” Bones says, voice wavering. Tears threaten to spill onto his cheeks; they well up as Jim watches, terrified and awed, and completely useless. Bones swipes at his eyes, but it’s a lost battle from the start and all that fabric trapping his arms only seems to frustrate him more. He huffs and those tears follow through on their very real promise, dripping down Bones’s increasingly red face.

Jim approaches slowly, because he knows this is his fault and Bones has a sixth sense about stuff like that. Bones has never failed to peg Jim’s mischief on him, better to assume he hasn’t lost that ability just because he’s a kid now. A kid who still knows who Spock is. And therefore knows Jim. “Hey, Bones.” He crouches so he’s at eye level and God. It is still Bones in there; Jim can tell. Underneath the tiny child’s face is a fully aware Bones. Jim sobers appreciably and does his best to avoid adopting a patronizing tone. Kids hate that, right? Bones would definitely hate that. “Need a hand?”

The cutting look Bones gives him nearly surprises a laugh out of him. The utter disdain. Exactly the same as normal. And so damned cute coming from a pint-sized Bones. But then Bones thrusts his arms out so Jim can roll the sleeves up and Jim has better things to do than moon over how much more charming Bones is when he’s a kid.

“Thanks,” Bones allows begrudgingly, scrubbing at his face with tiny fists and barely holding up his shirt with those tiny shoulders of his.

===

Jim gets Bones situated on the couch with a spare blanket and the hastily replicated pajamas from the Quartermaster. They don’t fit correctly since no one wants to put a kid through the body scanner even though it’s supposed to be safe, so Bones is left with a too long shirt over too short pants. Bones fidgets around and tugs at the shirt, but he doesn’t say anything, just crushes the blanket in his hands under his chin, wrapping every part of himself in it except his head.

“You okay, Bones?” Jim asks, sitting at the end of the couch Bones hasn’t staked out as his.

“Uh huh,” he answers, avoiding Jim’s eyes.

Jim feels bad leaving Bones over here, like he’s abandoning him, but there’s no protocol for age-regressed crew. And Jim would know, because Jim had checked during the three hours Bones spent in Medical with M’Benga. Indecisive, he sits there with Bones a while longer, wishing he could offer something better: a fix, a timeline, anything. He knows it’s Bones in there, but M’Benga had said he’s hampered by the developmental stage he’s stuck in, all age-appropriate neurological and physical reactions with all the memories and as much personality as grown up Bones has. An adult Bones wouldn’t want Jim to ruffle his hair or give him a hug, but he’s pretty sure kids need that sort of thing. Maybe? In the end, he keeps any attempts to comfort Bones to himself.

At least they know why those native people lived so long now. And also why they’re not around anymore. Regressing people to their childhoods? Not the smartest idea ever. That’s just Jim’s guess though. He’ll leave the real research to the cadre of social scientists who are no doubt salivating for their chance with the data.

None of that helps Jim though. Perhaps Uhura should have taken him. She grew up around kids of all ages, including little ones. And Bones had taken a surprising shine to her considering their normally cordial yet professional relationship, but no. No. Jim had insisted.

“Jim?”

“Yeah?”

Bones’s wide eyes stare vacantly between Jim and the couch, like he’s stuck for the right words and doesn’t have the space to think without letting something else go offline. He blinks and shakes his head and then says, “I’m tired.”

And for a moment Jim’s not sure why he’s telling Jim that. It’s a blunt statement of fact, but not quite as blunt as Bones would normally be. Then Jim realizes he’s taking up most of the space and Bones is huddled up against the opposite armrest. “You want me to move?”

“Yes, please.”

Jim levers himself up and grabs a PADD from his desk, figures he can get a little work done there and keep an eye on Bones until he falls asleep. “Sure thing, Bones.”

He takes his seat, repositioning it so he can see the back of Bones’s head over the edge of the arm rest. Bones remains so quiet after that that Jim almost forgets he’s there. And once he’s finished all the fiddly little work details he can stomach, he hesitates to get up. He wants to check on Bones, but he’s afraid of walking him up should he do so. So he doesn’t, slipping into bed still in his uniform because he hadn’t thought to change earlier.

===

Jim wakes up, unsure what had interrupted his sleep. No noise, no bad dreams, no movement as far as he can tell. He goes to take a piss and stumbles over his own boot, which figures. He’s perfectly able to cross a room in the dark when he’s alone, but the minute he’s got a guest he’s hoping to avoid bothering—a tiny black shadow darts down in front of the couch. _Good job, Jim, only you_.

He’s halfway to the bathroom when he hears a sniffle and that’s it. So much for leaving Bones alone. “Lights, twenty percent.” The illumination doesn’t help much, but hopefully he won’t trip over anything this time.

Jim walks over to the couch and looks down. “Bones?”

He doesn’t see anything at first other than Bones huddled beneath the blanket, hair skewing out, face hidden by his forearms or his knees. Jim’s not sure which with the blanket obscuring everything, but the sound stops. He reaches out and feels Bones flinch away, trembling.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

Bones doesn’t answer, which ratchets Jim’s concern into the stratosphere. Bones is never this quiet and Jim would’ve pegged a child of Bones’s temperament to be a hellion, loud and eager to voice his every grievance. Never mind that it is actually Bones in there, so there’s no reason why he shouldn’t still want to yell. He makes a sport of complaining on a good day. Why should this be any different?

“Come on, Bones,” Jim cajoles, hand rubbing circles on Bones’s back. Jim has no clue if it works, but the shaking stops. Jim slides around the couch, never breaking contact, and sits flush with Bones’s tiny body. Jim has never considered Bones a vulnerable person, but he seems so fragile like this, bent over his own body, even more so when he looks up and Jim can see the spare light glint off the sheen of tears in his eyes. If Jim thought Bones’s eyes expressed everything he feels before, he’s been lying to himself, because everything’s there—stuff Jim’s never seen before, not even when they met on the shuttle.

Bones leans into him, almost too light a pressure on Jim’s side to be noticeable, but Jim’s so far out of his depth that everything shares equal importance. That slight movement holds the same weight as the unshed tears as the shivering does. And none of it tells Jim what he should be doing to help.

“I don’t like this,” Bones says, voice oddly flat for a kid and for Bones, as though he’s lost all fine control of his emotions and can only deal with it through a complete shutdown.

“I know you don’t,” Jim answers. “M’Benga will figure it out.”

“Yeah,” Bones says weakly. And Jim gets the distinct impression that Bones’s definition of ‘this’ extends to more than just his foray into a second childhood. He’s not even sure that Bones could articulate what ‘this’ entails if Jim wanted confirmation.

“How can I help?” Jim asks, hoping there’s something he can do to make this easier on Bones. Hoping that Bones can think of something that Jim can do to help because Jim’s coming up empty. Uhura would know what to do.

“Stay here?”

Jim’s heart constricts and seizes and a thickness rises in the back of his throat that directly precedes a prickling behind his eyes. Christ. Jim is absolutely out of his league here. Such a simple request from the most independent man Jim knows. Before now, Jim couldn’t imagine a reason why Bones would need him to stick around, let alone ask. “Course, Bones.”

Jim hasn’t offered up control of any situation to anyone since before he sent the Corvette careening into that quarry, but he does just that here, willing to let Bones take the lead. He finds it easy enough to do despite his rustiness. No matter the age, Jim trusts Bones.

Bones surprises him by flopping over and curling in on himself, smushing his face back and forth into his pillow until he finds an acceptable position. Not even his feet touch Jim and he tucks his knees into his torso. Absolutely bizarre. He’s seen Bones sprawl in sleep any number of times and wonders what gives there. Maybe it’s a kid Bones thing.

Eventually Jim must fall asleep, because when he opens his eyes again, Bones is staring down at him, chubby features curious. Jim peers back—eyes slitted against the bright light Bones must have requested—and then down to see that Bones is standing on the cushions. So Bones does have a naughty streak in there. Jim smiles. Good for him.

“Hey, Bones,” Jim says, trying to keep from yawning into his friend’s face. “Sleep okay?”

Bones plops down onto the couch. “Yeah,” he says, plucking at his pajama pants. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Jim says, cracking his neck, feeling every bit his 27 years. He shouldn’t feel this old yet. He suspects Bones would say it has something to do with his predilection for outrageous stunts. For the first time Jim admits that perhaps Bones is right. And then he frowns because he would never hear the end of it if he admitted as much. “You hungry?”

Bones shrugs, shy again despite his earlier moment of mischief. “I guess.”

“Want anything specific?”

Bones shakes his head.

Jim sighs, wondering if this is when he’s going to be treated to baby Bones’s version of bullheadedness. No one, not even Jim, can beat him at it when he’s in a mood. This Bones doesn’t seem to be particularly moody, but who can tell? Jim racks his brain for appropriate breakfasts that Bones would like and all he can come up with is the oatmeal and fruit that Bones normally chooses because he’s boring and actually takes setting an example for others as CMO seriously. Then Jim thinks back to their days at the Academy when Bones happily ate most of the same crap Jim does to this day and still comes up blank.

Just to give himself a moment’s breathing room, he comms Spock, sure he’ll be awake as Uhura has alpha shift and they are disgustingly sweet sometimes.

“Spock here,” Spock says placidly with little delay. Jim would put good money on a bet that Spock is already at his desk doing work like the serious Vulcan that he is.

“Spock,” Jim says, mulling over breakfast. He watches Bones as Bones continues to sit on the couch, twiddling his thumbs. Or doing some full-hand variation on that. Honestly, Jim’s not sure what he’s doing. “Wanna take alpha for me? I should’ve talked with you about it yesterday, but…”

“There is no need to explain, Captain. Taking alpha shift would be acceptable to me,” Spock answers. Jim nearly snickers because no doubt would it be acceptable; Jim just gave Spock and Uhura a whole shift to spend together. It’s better than acceptable.

“Thanks, Spock.”

“How is Dr. McCoy faring?” Spock asks. And then Jim hears Uhura speak in the background, though he can’t make out the words.

“He’s fine. We’re just figuring out breakfast now.”

“Captain,” Uhura says, taking over the comm unit from Spock, “once alpha is over would you like us to hang out with McCoy until gamma?”

“Hang on. Lemme find out,” Jim says, grateful that Uhura would offer, though unsure how Bones would handle being with Spock for so long. Then he wonders how Spock would handle Bones. And then he worries that maybe it’s not the best idea even if Uhura would be there. “Hey, Bones?”

“Yeah?” he asks, huffing the word more than speaking it, and it sounds so much like grown up Bones that Jim almost laughs. But he looks up, no hint of annoyance on his face, forcibly reminding Jim that his Bones and this Bones are almost two different people.

“You want to hang out with Uhura and Spock this afternoon?”

Bones frowns, lips turning down in a near perfect u-shape. On a grown up Bones it’s a formidable indication of displeasure, but on little Bones it just looks like a pout, setting his full lower lip at an adorable jut. Then his face clears and he nods with determination. “That sounds okay.”

Jim grins and wishes he could be there for this event. No doubt it’ll be the greatest thing Uhura will ever see in her life. Jim wants evidence. He wants a holo, a vid, a live re-enactment with puppets if necessary.

“Bones says that sounds okay with him.”

“Great. I’ll come pick him up before the handoff,” Uhura says, disconnecting.

Now that that’s taken care of, Jim’s only left with the problem of what to feed Bones. He’s not going to force the guy to eat oatmeal and fruit, not after the day he had yesterday. 

That’s just cruel. He wishes he could talk to Bones’s dad for tips, but that’s just impossible this far out into space and anyway, how would he explain Bones’s predicament? The man is cool, especially for being a McCoy, which Jim had always assumed required an attitude the size of the Grand Canyon, but no person could be that cool. Jim’s not even that cool and he’s only dealing with this as well as he is because he’s taking Bones’s lead.

“So, breakfast?” Jim prompts.

“Uh huh,” Bones answers, tugging and swiping his overgrown hair, disgruntled.

“Know what you want?”

“Don’t care.”

Sure, Bones doesn’t care. He won’t care right up until Jim picks something and then Jim will find out just how much Bones doesn’t care. Jim doesn’t have a whole lot of experience with kids, but he knows that much about them. They’re picky little bastards. And so he does the only thing he can do really.

He comms Rand.

“Yeoman,” he says. “I need a favor.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Can you bring breakfast to my quarters?”

“Of course, sir.”

Jim rolls his eyes at himself, feeling more ridiculous by the minute. “And can you bring something sweet? Bones won’t tell me what he wants, but I figure everyone likes pancakes or something.”

“Oh, um. Sure. Not a problem, sir.”

===

“Is there anything you’d like to do?” Jim asks, because Bones has just been sitting there. And even if it is Bones, he’s still working through kid lenses, and shouldn’t he be bored or something? Jim would be bored. Jim is bored and he’s just watching Bones do nothing.

“No.”

“I’m sure there’s a game or something—”

“No.”

“A vid?”

“No.”

Jim blows out a frustrated breath. He absolutely will not take it out on Bones, who’s handling this shit like a trooper, but he can’t help but want to do something for him. And Bones is a tiny brick wall who Jim can’t help but feel is doing it on purpose.

Bones watches him warily from the couch, knees tucked under his chin while Jim paces in front of his desk. Makes him feel like a specimen. And reminds him that while Bones isn’t a kid in there, he is hamstrung by something. There’s no way Bones wouldn’t have told him to stop pacing if he’d been fully grown.

“Do you want cookies or something?” Jim asks before he can think better of it. _Cookies_? Can he even get cookies? He doesn’t think he’s seen a cookie since spacedock months ago. What the hell?

“I’m okay, Jim,” Bones says, world weary beyond even his thirty-one years. He unwinds to stretch his legs, kicking them against the cushions, before he sits cross-legged in the middle.

“So you’re just going to sit there?”

Bones shrugs and nods.

“There’s nothing you want to do?”

Bones shakes his head.

“You don’t want to go anywhere?”

Shakes again.

“Bones, come on,” Jim says, pleading. “We can do whatever you want.”

Bones narrows his eyes at Jim. “I don’t want to.”

Jim knows better than to push Bones under normal circumstances, but when he’s got a few feet on the guy it’s easier to prod. He crosses his arms, trying to keep the rushing sense of failure at bay for a few moments longer. “I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t care.”

“What’s _wrong_ with you?” Jim asks, tone harsher than he’d like.

Bones’s eyes fill with frustrated tears, making Jim feel like the galaxy’s worst friend and possibly the universe’s biggest asshole.

“Whoa, hey. Look, I’m sorry. Bones, it’s okay, man.” He takes a step closer, but Bones just slides back into the couch, which stops Jim in his tracks.

Then Bones blinks and his mouth twists as he bites at his lower lip and he’s about five seconds from crying if Jim can’t stop this and Jim has no idea how to do that.

“Bones?” 

“I’m scared, Jim. And I don’t want to do anything. And I don’t feel good.” Bones tucks himself up again and buries his face in the curve of his own body. “I want to go home.”

Oh. _Oh_. Jim’s heart beats sick rhythms that echo in the pit of his stomach. Blood rushes in his ears and the skin across his sinuses warms with prickling heat. He takes a tiny step toward Bones and when Bones doesn’t flinch or move away, he takes another until he’s standing above Bones, who resembles a turtle more than a person right now.

Jim crouches in front of Bones and places his hands on Bones’s too fragile forearms. They shake under Jim’s touch, but he doesn’t hear Bones crying or anything. Still, he can’t tell anything really.

God. Jim’s a moron and he’s no expert at comforting Bones. After their initial encounter on the shuttle, Bones had pretty much taken care of himself. But of course. Of course Bones is scared. He’s suddenly a kid. And not just that, he’s stuck on a starship with pretty much no autonomy and a history of aviophobia.

It’s a wonder Bones hasn’t gone into a fugue state just to escape his predicament.

“Hey,” Jim says, awkwardly shifting so that he can sit next to Bones. When Bones doesn’t immediately pull away, Jim puts his arm around Bones’s birdlike shoulders. And then when Bones actually huddles toward him, he lets his head fall back and breaths out his relief that finally, finally he’s doing something. He rubs his hand up and down Bones’s arm and loses track of how much time passes. Eventually Bones startles him from the blankness of his thoughts with a yank of his shirt, but when he looks down all he sees is that Bones now has a handful of gold clutched in his pale knuckles. He doesn’t look like he’s trying to get Jim’s attention. Jim tries to get a better look at Bones’s face, but it’s hidden under all that hair. Jim wants to push it back, make sure Bones isn’t stroking out where he can’t see.

But he also doesn’t want to disturb him. Especially if he’s somehow fallen asleep. Goodness knows he needs it.

“Computer, ship’s time?” Jim whispers.

“15:00.”

Jim’s nose wrinkles. “Beta shift officers?”

“Helm officer McKenna, Navigation officer Darwin, Science of—”

Jim wracks his brain and curses himself. He used to have a memory to speak of. And then he became a captain. And now he relies on computers. “Duty schedule for Lt. Sulu?”

“Off-duty until alpha shift stardate 2260.92.”

Jim exhales and nods, satisfied. He can work with that. He tugs his comm from his pants, gingerly avoiding moving the half of his body Bones has commandeered as a pillow. 

“Kirk to Lt. Sulu,” he says, wondering how long he’ll have to wait for a response. Good money’s on the guy’s in the gym.

When Sulu answers, he’s out of breath. “Sulu here, Captain.”

Jim grins up at the ceiling, happy to have confirmation as though knowing that somehow makes up for everything else. “How do you feel about some time in the chair, Lieutenant?”

Jim can all but hear Sulu’s spine straighten at the question.

“I feel good about it, sir,” he says after a pause.

 _Bless you and your ambition, Sulu_. “I know it’s short notice, but will you take duty officer’s shift off my hands during beta today?”

He knows he can’t shirk his job for long. He is the captain and that would set a dangerous precedent and he doesn’t want to be the guy who doesn’t do his part and no one’s sure how long this will last. He can’t keep blowing off work until Bones returns to normal, but Bones seems to need him right now, and just this once he can put Bones first.

It might be the only chance he gets.

“Of course, sir. I’d be glad to,” Sulu says, pausing again. “Is, ah, everything okay with—?” He cuts himself off, unsure whether the inquiry would be welcome perhaps.

“We’re okay, Mr. Sulu. I’m sure Dr. McCoy will appreciate your concern.”

“Right. Okay. I should go get ready for shift. Sir.”

“Don’t let me keep you.”

Jim shakes his head as he closes his comm.

“Computer, send messages to Mr. Spock and Lt. Uhura telling them that they have their evening to themselves.”

“Understood, Captain,” the computer says softly as though it, too, doesn’t wish to disturb Bones. He stretches as surreptitiously as he can manage without jostling Bones as an ache grows in his hip. He shouldn’t be so old already. Maybe he should start listening to Bones more. He’s always going on about Jim’s joints and ligaments and how you’re not as resilient as you used to be, Jim, that’s what getting old is, you’re gonna regret all that jumpin’ around when you’re thirty-five with degenerative pains all over your body and I’m stuck hypoing your ass in perpetuity for arthritis.

Bones shivers against his torso and locks up before relaxing again, molding himself against Jim’s side. “Hey, Jim?” he mumbles against Jim’s ribs.

Jim’s face flushes with pleasure and he’s not sure why. “What’s up, Bones?”

“I’m hungry,” Bones says and it takes everything Jim’s got not to start laughing in relief. He’s pretty sure Bones would take it the wrong way.

“I’m hungry, too. What do you want to get?”

Bones sits up, hands planted in the cushion, and leans forward, thinking. “Um… apricots.”

“Apricots,” Jim says, mentally questioning Bones’s taste. Jim should have just gone with oatmeal and fruit for the guy’s breakfast; apricots are pretty much what he eats as an adult, too. He’d probably have preferred the oatmeal if he still wants apricots now. “We can do that. You wanna go to the mess?”

Bones shakes his head, tensing again. Looks like he’s gonna owe Rand a whole hell of a lot of favors. He can’t blame Bones though. He wouldn’t want to hang around the crew if he looked like a kid either.

===

After he eats, Bones actually leaves the couch to do more than go to the bathroom, starts investigating at all sorts of things, head cocked to the side, a distant, thoughtful look on his face.

“This is weird,” he says, looking up at Jim’s wall of books. He stretches his arms, barely able to touch the shelf even on his toes. Jim almost admonishes him, thinking he’s going to start swinging from the thing, until he realizes this is Bones and that shelf is soldiered into the wall. And the books are held in place by a metal band he built himself from some scrap he stole from Scotty. Bones isn’t going to hurt himself doing anything stupid. He’s not actually a five year old. Then he turns and looks at Jim, who’s watching him from his desk.

“Yeah, no kidding,” Jim answers.

Bones then hops onto Jim’s bed and bounces on his knees.

“You want a PADD or something?” Jim asks dryly as Bones blushes and sits more appropriately.

“I don’t know,” Bones admits mournfully. “Not really? I wanna…”

That piques Jim’s interest. “Yeah, Bones?”

Bones huffs, face scrunching. “I can’t do my job,” Bones says. “I don’t like it.”

“M’Benga will figure it out. And Uhura is working with the xenoanthropologists and the sociologists and the archaeologists to find out if there’s already a known method for reversing this. And Scotty and Chekov are neck deep in figuring out the tech. There are a lot of smart people looking out for you.”

“I know.”

“You’re going to be fine, Bones. You are fine.”

Bones kicks his feet back and forth against the baseboard; he looks down at the floor and plucks at the sheets. “What if I’m stuck like this?”

Jim swallows as guilt surges through him. This is his fault—for not heeding Spock’s advice, for boldly going for no reason, for dragging Bones on unnecessary away missions. Who the fuck feels compelled to touch some crumbly marble anyway? Jim abandons his work and joins Bones on the bed. “I’m sorry, Bones.”

Jim doesn’t miss the way Bones shifts away slightly.

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay. I shouldn’t have—as cute a kid as you make, I won’t let you stay one. We’ll orbit this planet until we have you back to normal.”

“Really?” Bones answers dubiously.

“Scout’s honor.”

“You weren’t a scout, Jim,” Bones says, crossing his arms matter-of-factly.

Jim smiles and jostles Bones lightly. “Captain’s honor then.”

“Okay.”

Jim pats him on the shoulder and goes back to his desk while Bones pokes at Jim’s stuff—pulls on drawers and overturns knick-knacks, returning them in a more orderly fashion than he’d removed them. The concentration with which Bones works charms Jim beyond measure, mostly because it reminds Jim so much of Bones when he’s deep in his work in the medbay.

“What are you doing?” Jim finally asks, too curious to keep the words to himself. Bones has never shown much interest in Jim’s quarters before, a pity in itself, but he has no clue why Bones would care now.

“Research,” Bones says, shrugging, as though it’s obvious. The mischievous little smile he offers makes Jim question whether he’s joking or not. Jim suspects Bones is just messing with him. Bones always gets a little weird when he’s bored, which is why he tries not to let himself reach the point. Boredom is how prank wars and slaps on the wrist from Starfleet happen. Not that Bones would ever admit to that dark period in his academic career.

===

Halfway through beta shift, Bones settles on the couch and starts dozing almost immediately, face mashed into the arm cushion. He twitches every so often and his face contorts and relaxes often enough that Jim worries, thinking maybe he should wake him up, but then the chime sounds and does the job for him. Bones jumps and casts his head around, bleary-eyed.

Jim hops to his feet to get the door while Bones rubs his eyes and yawns.

Uhura and Spock both stand in the doorway. Uhura smiles widely and brushes past Jim without so much as an invitation in while Spock remains rooted on the threshold, hands behind his back.

“Hey, Leonard,” Uhura says, sitting on the couch next to Bones. He looks up at her warily, but answers with a happy enough, “Hey.”

“Captain,” Spock says as Jim motions him in. The room shrinks at the intrusion. He doesn’t get many visitors. Any visitors really, except Bones. And Bones has never counted as a visitor anyway.

“Dr. McCoy,” Spock continues, inclining his head in greeting.

“Spock,” Bones answers. The name pops on Bones’s tongue, lacks the irreverent drawl Bones usually reserves for his name.

“How are you feeling?” Spock asks, awkwardly clasping his hands behind his back in a manner both exactly like and nothing at all comparable to his usual stance.

Bones’s eyebrows raise with none of the imperiousness that grown Bones can muster. All the incredulity remains intact however. “Little,” he answers, startling laughter out of Jim and Uhura.

“I suppose—” Spock answers, eyes glancing Jim’s way. He arches his eyebrow. “It is promising to see that your sense of humor or lack thereof remains intact.”

“Thanks, Spock,” Bones answers with inflated dignity. He huffs and crosses his arms.

“So?” Jim asks, clapping his hands together and opening them wide. He forces himself to refrain from slapping Spock on the arm. “What’s up, guys?”

“We wanted to see Leonard,” Uhura says, “and we thought we’d give you both an update on everyone’s progress.”

“Good news?” Jim asks, hopeful. Uhura wouldn’t have bothered to bring it up if she had nothing positive to report, but who knows how good the news is?

She smiles down at Leonard, who looks back with interest and longing. “Good news. There is precedence for reversing the procedure among the natives. Apparently it was a custom among adolescents to sneak into the temple. Sometimes they found themselves in trouble. It was a well-regarded rite of passage among the younger set.”

“Additionally, Mr. Scott believes he can extrapolate the correct reversal protocol if given enough time.”

“When?” Bones asks, a look of fierce concentration on his face.

“He claims it will take two days at the least, but based on his record I believe he exaggerates the time frame.”

Two days. Jim blows out a breath. That’s nothing in the scheme of things. He looks at Bones, who exhibits a complicated mix of relief and dread. Two days really is nothing, but two days to a person looking at the world through kid-colored glasses? Uhura seems to grasp Bones’s feelings more quickly than Spock and Jim both and nudges him with her elbow.

“You know Scotty, Leonard. You’ll be put right by morning,” she says.

Bones nods, a wavering smile on his face. Uhura looks at Jim, a question implicit in the tilt of her head, but he can only shrug. He’s yet to figure out the new landscape of Bones’s moods.

She offers up a painful little smile and stands. “Perhaps we’ll leave you to your evening. We really just wanted to give you both the news in person.”

“Indeed,” Spock says.

“Night, Leonard. Jim,” Uhura says. She and Spock let themselves out.

“So, tomorrow morning. That’s cool,” Jim says, taking Uhura’s recently vacated spot.

“Yeah.”

“Shouldn’t you be happier about it?”

Bones sighs. “Yeah.”

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s too easy,” Bones says.

Jim laughs. He can’t help it. It’s so Bones. Bones boiled down to his most basic impulses. He’ll perform marathon surgeries on patients who should be beyond saving and believe in the absolute truth that he will not lose them, but he can’t trust that anything similarly miraculous could happen to him. He believes in other people until it’s him on the line and then his belief in his own bad luck overwhelms all other considerations.

And then Bones scowls at him, which sobers Jim appreciably. Jim probably wouldn’t maintain any optimism if the situations were reversed either.

“I’m sorry, Bones.”

Bones draws his knees up to his chest. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not. I shouldn’t have laughed.”

“Fine.”

“Scotty’s good at his job. If he’s not worried, you shouldn’t be either and Chekov’s more brilliant than all of us put together.”

“We’ll see.”

===

Jim can’t stand the idea of Bones falling asleep curled up in a corner of the couch again. He doesn’t want to wake up in the middle of the night just to find Bones fucking crying silently to himself and he really doesn’t relish the thought of falling asleep on the couch again because he’s not going to make Bones be alone right now.

So he does the only thing he can do once he realizes Bones has fallen asleep half sitting up while Jim’s working. And that thing is shaking Bones awake.

“The couch can’t be comfortable for you,” Jim insists. “And I’m not falling asleep on it again.”

“I—”

“Come on. I still snuck into Sam’s bed during lightning storms when I was ten and should have known better.”

“Yeah?” Bones asks, disbelievingly.

“True story. You can ask Sam next time I talk to him if you want.”

“Jim…”

How is Bones even harder to argue with as a kid than as an adult? It’s unbelievable. “Please, Bones. I don’t want to worry about you being all by yourself over here.”

“I’m not a kid.”

“I know that.”

Bones waffles and glances at the bed. He looks up at Jim with bright, unsure eyes. Jim looks back with as much certainty as he can muster and hopes Bones gives in for Jim’s sake if not his own. Bones does that all the time as an adult.

“Okay,” Bones says, long suffering and thwarted.

===

Bones swirls his spoon in some oatmeal while Jim slips into his black undershirt. He feels awful for putting Bones through that goopy, tasteless crap, but he doesn’t seem to mind, eating bite after mechanical bite, which is more than could be said for most of yesterday. At least he’s dumped a ton of sugar in it. That cheers Jim. Not much, but, well. Having Bones back would be better for Jim’s conscience. He’s tired of pretending he’s any good at this.

As Jim pulls on his gold shirt, the door chimes. “Enter,” Jim says.

Uhura comes in holding a small black bundle. “Morning,” she says.

“Good morning, Lieutenant,” Jim says.

Bones looks up from his bowl. “Mornin’.”

Uhura unfurls the black fabric, showing it to be a body suit. “Might want to wear this today, Leonard,” she says. She pulls on it from a few directions, stretching the material long and wide.

Bones narrows his eyes dubiously, while Jim takes the suit from Uhura’s hands. It’s a smart idea; Jim hadn’t even thought of it with everything else that’s been going on. Good thing he’s got such a brilliant crew to back him up.

===

The whole reversal is pretty anticlimactic to be honest. Jim’s sure Bones would disagree, but for all the lead up Jim expects a little more out of the whole thing. He’s not sure why after. It’s not like the process of turning Bones into a kid had been all that exciting either. One second there’s a small Bones standing in stark contrast to the pale marble wall. And the next there’s the fully grown version in a body suit that does manage to stretch to accommodate his fully grown parts.

M’Benga surreptitiously scans Bones from somewhere behind Jim’s left ear as though he doesn’t want to provoke Bones with any sudden movements. It’s not a bad strategy. Jim’s never used it, but he’s heard good things.

“Bones?” Jim asks, drawing Bones’s attention to him. He’s treated to a fearful glance that morphs into relief and something else while he stares at Jim. Bones looks around the room, briefly settling his eyes on each the individuals around him—Scotty, Chekov, Uhura, Spock, M’Benga. Jim again. “You okay there, McCoy?”

Bones nods. Something Jim can’t identify passes between them, leaving him at a loss for words. Then Bones speaks and everything returns to normal. “Yeah, but let’s not do that again anyway, hmm?”

===

“So, uh,” Bones says, looking everywhere but at Jim’s face, which is weird, because out of the pair of them, Bones has always been the direct one.

“Come on in, Bones.” Jim jerks his head toward the couch. Figures they can be comfortable if they’re about to have a painful conversation about Jim’s stupidity or whatever. He’s been waiting for it ever since they got back from that planet.

Bones does come in, but not much further than just inside the door. He looks lost and stares at the couch like it’s something totally different than the same piece of furniture it’s always been. Then he shakes his head.

“M’Benga cleared me, says I should take another day to rest, but to hell with that. I’m working alpha shift tomorrow,” Bones says almost apologetically, as though he knows it’s not really what he wants to talk about. “If that’s okay.”

Jim knows there’s a look of disbelief on his own face right now. “Really?” he asks, because that’s what Bones wants to talk about? Jim would put good money on Bones wanting to chew him out instead. What’s he holding out for? Jim’s waited all day for this and now Bones is talking about work?

Bones coughs. “Yeah. And I, uh, gave Chekov and Scotty a day’s mandatory medical leave for that all-nighter they pulled. And IOUs for whatever top-shelf excuse for liquor they prefer next time we hit a starbase. I’m not sure the latter’s not an apology for the former the way they looked at me like I was punishing ‘em. Strange folks, those two. Uhura got the good bourbon I’ve been sitting on since she actually has decent taste in liquor. Spock doesn’t know it yet, but I’m gonna let him win the next argument he starts with me. Figure that’s enough of a thank you for him. And it might be good for a laugh. Novelty and all that.” His hand circles the air a couple of times.

“Right,” Jim says, making a point of sitting down while Bones blathers on, keeping Jim on tenterhooks. Bones might have him pinned, but he doesn’t have to act like it. He can play it cool and mature.

Bones squints thoughtfully at the ceiling and clears his throat again. Then he draws a breath and finds whatever it is he looks for. It puts Jim on edge and he leans forward to brace for it.

Bones looks Jim square in the face and says, “I have no fucking clue how to thank _you_ though.” He opens his palms and shrugs. “Not a goddamned idea. I got nothin’.”

He wants to thank Jim? Wow. Somehow that’s even worse than Bones wanting to chew him out.

“I got you into this, Bones. You have no reason to thank me.”

Bones’s face drains of emotion—all the uncertainty and, well, gratitude apparently, gone—leaving a blank slate and blunted eyes that Jim can’t read. Bones takes one step back and hooks his thumb over his shoulder. “Well, that’s alright, then,” he says, struggling for the sarcasm that usually comes naturally to him. “Thank you anyway. You didn’t have to do what you did. I recognize and appreciate that. If there’s anything I can do, you let me know.”

He turns away and swipes his hand over the sensor. The door opens and he stops in the threshold, keeping the door retracted. He gives Jim one last look over his shoulder, thoughtful if still devoid of feeling. “You know what your problem is, Jim?”

“No,” Jim says honestly. Right now he doesn’t know a thing about anything that’s happened in the last minute or so. Least of all what his problem is.

“You still got this image of yourself as that massive fuck-up from before the Academy and you don’t even notice that’s not you anymore. You oughta look into that.”

And before Jim can formulate a response, Bones disappears down the corridor and the door swooshes shut in relief. Sadly, Jim can’t say he shares the sensation.

===

Jim gives Bones the rest of the night to do… whatever. He hadn’t sounded angry, so a cool down doesn’t seem the appropriate phrase for the space Jim decides is for the best. Jim figures he’ll apologize to Bones in the morning—hopefully he’ll have figured out what he’s done by then—and they’ll get past this. Jim’s not worried; Bones forgives him for worse on a near weekly basis.

Still, Bones’s reaction troubles him. And if he’s honest his quarters feel even more empty than usual without Bones’s presence filling the space. His brain flicks through this whole—thing, again and again, reliving the experience like one of those ancient flip books. The picture’s no clearer despite of the repetition. May even be more jumbled for it.

He doesn’t sleep easy that night.

===

And then Bones walks onto the bridge like normal. Gives his report like normal. Razzes Spock. Winks at Uhura. Nods at McKenna and Haines. Normal. Smiles at Jim. Normal. Everything is normal. Except that the laugh lines around his eyes don’t soften his features today. And his skin, pink with recent washing, is dull under the gleaming lights, shadowed more deeply on the upward slope of his cheeks. And his mouth is less mobile than usual.

“Give your captain hell this morning, folks,” he says, though his heart’s not in it, and Jim has the suspicion that Bones is speaking on two levels. Still, it gets a huff of laughter from the bridge crew. “Doctor’s orders.”

He gives Jim’s chair a wide berth as he heads toward the turbolift. Jim springs to his feet and bangs his hip against the edge of the armrest. He bites back an outburst at the jolt of pain that follows. “Spock, you have the conn,” he says, following Bones before he can pull another disappearing act.

He half expects Bones to ignore him and engage the turbolift before he can reach it, but Bones just stands inside calmly, waiting for Jim. Only once he’s securely inside does Bones activate it.

“Do something for you, Jim?” he asks, curious. He doesn’t look at Jim when he asks, doesn’t have that sly, concerned aspect he adopts when Jim acts ‘peculiar.’ Which is often. Jim is intimately acquainted with that look. Bones always thinks Jim acts peculiar.

“I’m sorry,” Jim says. “I know I said—I don’t know why what I said bothered you to be honest. I thought you’d be mad at me, but I’m sorry for what I said anyway. You threw me when you weren’t.”

They arrive outside the med bay, but neither move toward the exit. Then Bones sighs and punches in a request for the housing level.

“Bones,” Jim says, pushing, because it’s what he does. Bones finally looks at him, rueful, and Jim can see Bones’s desire to mutter written across his face. Jim’s heart eases at the sight.

“ _Jim_ ,” he answers in the same tone Jim used.

Bones grabs Jim by the elbow and steers him into the corridor outside crew living quarters. A few off-duty officers wander the halls, but they’re all so used to seeing Bones manhandle Jim around that no one pays much attention. Jim’s not sure if that’s appropriate or not, but it’s never undermined his authority, so he lets it slide.

They arrive outside Jim’s quarters and before Jim can do more than raise his hand Bones has already put in the code and led Jim inside.

“Look, it’s fine,” Bones says as soon as the door slides closed. He rubs the thumb side of his hand over his forehead. And gestures at Jim. “You’re okay. We’re good.”

“You dragged me all the way to my quarters to tell me we’re good?” Jim asks, unconvinced.

“You always gotta borrow trouble.” Bones sighs, looks up at the ceiling, taking a few deep breaths, maybe counting to himself. “Fine. I was a little pissed at you. Obviously. You were _perfect_. I mean, I felt like I was on a bad trip—everything was heightened and I had to concentrate on everything or else I’d get distracted… It was like being a damned hamster or something. I was _small_ and my hands didn’t work right and I was fucking terrified. Of everything. Hell, even food overwhelmed me. And I couldn’t explain anything how I wanted to. But you—you did everything. And I felt safe. I wouldn’t have held it together if it wasn’t for you. And I guess I don’t like the fact that you can attribute it to obligation when it meant everything to me. But, Jim, we’re good. I wouldn’t lie to you about that.”

Jim blinks and he opens his mouth to speak but finds that every single word he might use has abandoned him. He suddenly feels too big for himself. He’s never—he’s always wanted—he’s always worried that Bones would leave one day. That Jim would go too far and reckless wouldn’t just be a descriptor, but a condemnation. Jim doesn’t mean to be reckless, not anymore, but he’s still learning. But even Bones has to have a breaking point somewhere. And Jim has no idea where it is because the goal post keeps changing. It’s always just this much further past the last stupid thing Jim did. “I couldn’t just let you—I disregarded Spock’s recommendation. And then you were a kid. I wouldn’t have abandoned you.”

Bones rolls his eyes, clearly disappointed, but Jim can’t articulate anything else just yet. Doesn’t know what Bones wants from him. “Even I thought Spock was being overzealous. It was a wall, Jim. There was nothing there. Who could have known? Hell, I might’ve touched the damned thing myself.”

“Spock knew.”

Bones crosses his arms and shakes his head. “Spock didn’t _know_. He’s not psychic.”

“I shouldn’t have done it,” Jim says. What he means is he shouldn’t have been paying so much attention to Bones. What he means is he’s apparently the kind of guy who lets his feelings get him into trouble. What he means is he doesn’t deserve Bones’s forgiveness, let alone an explanation.

Bones shrugs. “Maybe.” He looks expectantly at Jim. “Anyway. Now you know why I was mad. I’m not now. Case closed. Another weird one for the archives. Can we put it aside now?”

Jim wants to. He wants to believe it’s that easy. Bones obviously wants him to believe it’s that easy. And maybe Bones wants to believe it’s that easy himself. “That’s it?” he asks, making a sweeping gesture with his arm. “Just like that?”

“Yeah,” Bones says, scratching the corner of his eye. “If you’ll ever stop second-guessing me, that is.”

“I’m not.”

“You really are.”

“I just—okay, I am. I just don’t get it.”

“Figured that one out already, Jim,” Bones answers in a dickish sing-song.

Jim glowers. “And you’re not helping.”

“What do you want outta me? A confession?” Bones licks his lips, a nervous habit Jim rarely sees. Then he nods and looks away. He’s not a coward like Jim, but everyone has their limits. “Yeah, I might’ve thought it meant something different.”

Jim takes a step toward Bones. “What did you think it meant?” he asks, not daring to believe Bones is implying what Jim thinks he’s implying.

Bones backs toward the door, face brightening with angry color. “You’re doing everyone a disservice here pretending you can’t guess. Jesus, Jim. You’re not that stupid. I get it. You got your answer. Just let it go.”

Jim closes the distance between them, awed at having missed this. He wants to know everything. How. And when. And why. And where he learned such a good poker face because Jim’d had no idea. “When have you ever known me to let things go?”

“All the time,” Bones says defiantly, “in the daydreams I have about what it would be like if you weren’t an asshole.”

Jim grins his brightest smile at Bones. “That’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“I think you’re addled in the head. I distinctly recall saying that you’re not a massive fuck-up just yesterday.”

“The way you’re talking, a guy could get the wrong idea.”

“A guy already got the wrong idea.”

Jim grabs Bones’s hand with his own. “And look where it got him.”

“Backed into a corner by a jackass?”

Jim ignores Bones’s grumpy words in favor of massaging his hand. He has no idea if it’ll stop Bones from spooking, but he likes doing it and Bones hasn’t stopped him and he hasn’t split. “So when you came to thank me…?”

“Don’t be crude,” Bones admonishes, but it’s a half-assed effort at best. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead yet.”

At this point, Jim figures he can pick up at least a small share of Bones’s courage. “I dunno, Bones,” he says thoughtfully. “I think a date would have been an appropriate step.”

“Oh, you do, do you? I just thought I’d be kinder with your hypos in the future.”

“Mmhmm.” He turns Bones’s hand back and forth in his own. “Maybe some wine—”

“You don’t drink wine.”

“Okay, how about beer? _Good_ beer.”

“Beer, huh?” Bones says, losing his sharp edges. His features relax and he leans back against the door.

“Absolutely. And dinner. Private, of course.”

“Oh, of course. This ship is well-known for its private dining spaces.”

Jim tsks. “Don’t listen to him, baby,” he says, patting the wall behind Bones’s head. His weight rests on that hand as he brings his face within inches of Bones’s, looks him straight in the eye. “He’s just jealous.”

Bones shakes his head and glares heavenward. _What did I ever do_ , he mouths at the ceiling. But he quirks a little smile and looks down with a mischievous glint in his eye. “How do you feel about Friday?”

“I like Friday. Traditional. Very _you_.”

“19:00?”

Jim nods.

Bones steps away from the door, bridging the scant inches between them to land the lightest kiss on the corner of Jim’s lips. His skin tingles at the brief contact and his brain clamors for more. Then the bastard palms open the door. “Sounds like we got ourselves a date,” he says. After he begins striding down the hall, he adds, “Oh. And I take back what I said about the hypos. Ain’t no way I’m going easy on you there now. You buckled too quick.”

Jim follows him to the turbolifts. “Good thing I never expected you to honor it in the first place.”

“Glad you agree.”

===

“So, Bones. Where are we going?” Jim asks as Bones leads him at an ambling pace toward God knows where. He looks away from Bones’s hands currently occupying the back pockets of his own jeans, which accentuate his thighs and bunch up his shirt in what can only be described as a taunt.

“You wanted private,” Bones says, turning to look at him. “I found it.”

“You’re not going to get us lost though, are you?” Jim asks, scanning their surroundings. He’s pretty sure he’s never seen this corridor before. And he’s seen a good majority of the ship.

“ _No_.” Bones stops in front of a door that looks like every other door in this hallway and punches in an access code. Jim peeks around his shoulder and his first image of the room is actual space. Right there. Out a floor-to-ceiling view screen. It’s like the observation deck, but on a much smaller scale. And Bones looks only a little queasier than usual at the sight of the bright blue warp field outside. “I’m absolutely astounded by your faith in me.”

Jim walks in, admiring the play of light across the walls. It really is private. A bit bigger than Jim’s quarters with a cadre of scientific equipment stashed neatly in one corner, waiting for the day it will be useful, but as yet completely abandoned. Jim’d thought he knew everything about the Enterprise. He wonders when he wrote off on all this stuff and how it ended up here.

There’s a table and chairs set up in the middle of the room. A couple of plates sit in the middle, steam rising from the small hole in the metal covering it.

“I have faith in you,” Jim says absently. Bones watches him from the wall inside the door, legs crossed at the ankle as he leans against it. A vague smile crosses his face as Jim takes the room in. “You did good.”

“Thanks for the encouragement,” Bones answers, pushing off.

“Anytime,” Jim says, standing—waiting—for Bones to reach him. Jim Kirk doesn’t do nerves, but tell that to his twisting insides. He hopes the food isn’t very good; he’s not sure he’ll be able to enjoy it if it is. “You know, when I said private, I didn’t mean you had to find me a place with a view.” A view that’s probably wreaking not a small bit of havoc with Bones’s nerves at that.

“My ma and pa did raise a gentleman,” Bones says, brushing close to Jim as he walks past, “after a fashion. You gonna take a seat or what?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna do that.” He grabs Bones by the forearm and tugs him closer. “In a minute.”

“Glad to hear it,” Bones says, allowing himself to be pulled toward Jim, who spares one glance for the warp field that has nothing on the smile now widening on Bones’s face. “Some of us did go through some trouble after all.”

“You always go through some trouble on my account,” Jim says.

“Usually works out though. Lucky for us.”

“I have something to confess,” Jim says, voice hushed.

Bones rolls his eyes. “By all means, Jim. Just before dinner is the perfect time for that.”

Jim trails his fingers over the smooth skin of Bones’s jaw, still soft with aftershave. He takes Bones’s words as permission to speak despite the sarcasm. “I didn’t listen to Spock because I was too busy trying not to pay attention to you. That’s why I was so—you weren’t wrong exactly. You just picked the wrong event as your evidence.”

Bones’s mouth forms an o-shape.

“I deserved to feel guilty, because it was unprofessional. And I don’t know why that day of all days was the day I couldn’t do my job, but I am sorry.”

Bones clears his throat and covers Jim’s hand with his own and pulls it from his face. “Well,” he says, “we’ll just have to make sure you pay plenty of attention to me in a non-professional capacity from here on out. Should solve the problem.”

“Might dent it a little bit,” Jim concedes, unsure there’s any solution that would split Jim’s attention entirely even for a short time.

“I can live with that. Now can we eat? Before this warp field gives us seizures?”

“Sure, Bones. Let's do that.”


End file.
